


Scare It Out Of Him

by FalseProphet (Batmanthegroomer)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: More than Meets the Eye, trans - Fandom
Genre: Fingering, Gen, M/M, Spike - Freeform, Sticky, interfacing, robot porn, valve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batmanthegroomer/pseuds/FalseProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate has finally made up his mind. He is going to interface with Cyclonus and the flier better just get used to the idea.</p><p>Cyclonus has ideas of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scare It Out Of Him

**Author's Note:**

> Some Transformers Contagion AU/Headcanon ideas in here, but they shouldn't distract MTMTE purists. :)
> 
> This is an altered RP between myself and my partner, B. ( digitalokii.tumblr.com ) They are responsible for Cyclonus.

Tailgate squared his pauldrens as he walked down the hallways, helm held high, pauldrens back, steps confident. He felt confident. This was a great idea! A fool proof plan! He and Rewind had wrapped their processors around every possible outcome and it looked nothing but promising. Perhaps sneaking into Cyclonus' room during the height of his heat cycle had been a mistake but Tailgate was on the right track. He wasn't misreading Cyclonus anymore. Not after the incident with his vial, not after the bomb and the one or two times he'd woken up on Cyclonus' recharge berth. 

He--and Rewind and Swerve to a certain extent--were almost convinced that Cyclonus was just nervous. Tailgate was going to show him there was nothing to be nervous about. Some odd hours of research and he'd pin-pointed the last day of Cyclonus' heat cycle. He'd still be under it's effects to a certain extent but he'd be coming out of it. With that and the help of the bottle of high grade he'd bought off Swerve, there would be little Cyclonus could do to weasel his way out of this! 

He wasn't imagining things anymore. The bond was there... it was. He paused at the end of the hallway holding Cyclonus' room. He felt his spark sputter as he stared at the door a few feet in front of him. He was right... wasn't he? This was going to work... it had to! Tailgate was going crazier than a 'bot denied spark syncing! 

He nodded to himself and boldly took the hallway. He stopped outside Cyclonus' door. He shifted himself to look as assertive as he felt. He smiled behind his mask and knocked on the door. 

"Cyclonus? Can I... talk to you a minute?"

Cyclonus sat on his recharge berth, legs crossed, optics off lined, and spinal strut straight. His room was pitch black and silent aside from his own whirring internals and the dim luminary guides running along his chassis. He was meditating. It was his only respite from the plaguing heat cycles that were a common anatomical occurrence for Cyertronians like him. He opened and closed his vents almost rhythmically, tiny movements to regulate his internal heating and cooling systems. Keeping himself at a nominal temperature required some amount of concentration and he found that it helped keep his processor on other aspects of his internals than the currently needy ones. 

He had only been at it for a few moments really, having just returned from a mandatory session with Rung, the ship's therapist, and had only just built a pattern for himself. It was a wordless, almost soundless mantra that he had worked years in perfecting under less than perfect conditions. And now, now that it was all over and his bond to Galvatron was broken, at least his meditation routine had not changed. 

The knock at the door was a small sound, but it was like the booming steps of a fully-formed combiner on the hull of the ship in his audios. It jolted him roughly out of the perfectly balanced, soundless world he had made for himself. His optics flashed red in the dark as he powered them up and they flared his extreme annoyance. 

"No." He answered after a couple of seconds had ticked by. But it was no use, a short answer never did it on this ship, he had come to realize, and besides, he had already been broken out of his carefully cultivated trance and there was no going back, he would have to start over. 

"What do you want?" He asked without moving or even looking at the door.

Tailgate felt that familiar clutching sensation in his spark chamber. His engines whirred quietly at just the sound of Cyclonus' voice. When they had first met, when Cyclonus had first attacked the downed NAIL ship on that Primus forsaken planet, the voice had an impact on Tailgate. Then it had been fear. That voice was strong and unwavering and everything that Cyclonus was. But now that he had seen Cyclonus, learned about him, come to know him, the voice did different things. He felt a rush of energon drop to his panel and he shifted his hip joints to calm himself. 

He was about to offer a plea when Cyclonus spoke again. Tailgate brightened, optics flashing blue glow onto the door in front of him. 

"I brought you something." Tailgate offered in what he hoped was a casual tone and not an I'm-desperate-to-just-be-in-your-company-right-now tone. 

Cyclonus flushed his vents letting out an airy blast akin to a sigh. 

"I am attempting to meditate Tailgate, can it not wait?" His voice seemed to lack a little of the anger it had only seconds before. He wanted to say 'can it not wait another 2 days or so?' but the words could not be summoned even to be glossa in cheek. He took great pains not to hide his heat cycle, per say, but to draw as little attention to it as possible. During this time he usually withdrew from society at large, whatever society happened to be at the time for him, and lock himself up to try and take his mind from the need to interface...to bond. 

The sudden thought of Galvatron's overpowering, unnatural spark drew him firmly out of any hope of regaining his peaceful meditative state. 

He slowly stood from his berth, purposeful and walked to the door. He activated the lights with a touch panel and then the door. When he faced Tailgate, he was already looking down to his approximate height, and his optics were obviously still adjusting to even the dim lighting in his quarters from the complete darkness or a moment before. 

"What is it?" He tried to snap, but it came out sounding more tired than anything. Containing one's self for the duration of a heat cycle as Cyclonus chose to do was exhausting and even years of practice could not fully acclimate his body to the method. 

Tailgate's optics flickered as the door whooshed open. He tried to keep himself in check but it was little use. His feelings for Cyclonus circled the spectrum from absolute fear to god-worship to lust to friendship and everything that could possibly exist between. But he had kind of gotten it into his head that there was really only one thing left to do--which was absurd--and he was all ready a bit revved from his talk with Rewind and Swerve about the possibility of getting Cyclonus to 'open up' to him, for lack of a better phrase. 

His optics greedily drunk in the sight before him and he had never been so glad to have been born with broken optics before. His visor kept his wandering vision concealed. 

The small bot could practically feel the hum from Cyclonus' turbines and the heat, well, he knew he wasn't making that up. He sputtered for a moment as if his vocal processor had cut out on him before holding up the bottle of high grade. 

"Tada!" He exclaimed cheerfully, once he'd located his vocal components. He blinked out his optics momentarily as he wished to convey the grin behind his mask. He powered them back up slowly and nearly held his breath waiting for the response. He longed for Cyclonus' acceptance but sometimes listening to the sharp hitch of the Decepticon's voice when he was angry with him was... kind of arousing. A thought that had apparently tickled Swerve's humor program.

Cyclonus could only stare. And for a long while, that is what he did. He tried in vain to wrap his processor around the enigma that was Tailgate and had been doing so for some time now, to no avail. He had, in his sessions with Rung, come to understand that there might be feelings there. But he was still loathe to let himself fall to an attachment of any kind. Never again would he repeat his former mistakes. 

"You...came to my quarters, when I requested no disturbances, to bring me high grade?" He finally said after a long pause. His voice wasn't really angry, but it's pitch dipped and rose with disbelief and an almost amusement. His head cocked just slightly to the side as if he were still puzzling this over. He opened his vents and did not even try to disguise it. He let the air hiss out. His face dropped back into a mask, the one he always wore. 

"Tailgate, what are you really doing here. You are going to tell me, or I am going to insert that bottle into a place where you would most certainly need a medic to have it removed?"

Tailgate nodded enthusiastically and tipped the bottle from side to side alluringly. As Cyclonus stared he felt his resolve slipping away, however, and he soon found himself clutching the high grade to his chestplate. He could handle the mean words and insults and even sometimes when Cyclonus flat-out ignored him, but... for some reason when Cyclonus just stared like that Tailgate felt so small. He felt like Cyclonus was looking through him, instead of at him. He felt like it would be better to be noticed and pushed aside than not noticed at all. 

He looked away and tapped his fingers on the bottle as air hissed out of Cyclonus' vents. It made him shudder. 

"I..." He took a breath and forced himself to look back up at the con. "I know about your... uhm... heat cycle. I thought--I thought--this could help. I thought... I could help." He looked back down at the bottle. 

A few lights over his waistline flickered in response to his stuttering spark, emotions causing his wavelengths to dance all over the place. He hated how his body seemed to continuously give him away. He looked back up, stiffening and decided to take another bold move forward. 

"I thought you might like... some... company." His voice dropped off until it was barely audiable and he looked away. So much for trying to win Cyclonus over with wit and charm.

Cyclonus' optics grew wide and for a moment, he said nothing. Emotion came off him in waves, but it wasn't just anger, it was a whole mess of other things including a great deal of confusion. His mouth actually hung open a bit and his optics grew just a bit wider. 

"M-my heat....cycle...?" He repeated as if the very thing was hard to say in anyone's company but his own. After a moment or two, and Cyclonus deciding to forgo all the obvious questions--like 'who the hell told you about my heat cycles?'--Cyclonus' vents hissed again, though it didn't seem to be on purpose this time. He turned from the door, but left it open. 

"You are really not going to give this up are you? Do you have any idea what you're asking me?" He turned over his shoulder. "You did not see much of the war and I think you are just not able to see what a mistake you are making." His voice was calm, but it was obvious he was not his usual self and, by putting distance between himself and Tailgate, he tried to hide just how worked up he was. Once he was inside his room away from the door, he allowed his vents to open up for fear he was actually raising the temperature in the room otherwise.

Tailgate frowned hard. Very hard. He watched Cyclonus walk away with keen interest, the flier's joints were smooth but his body was stiff. He almost wished in that moment that he knew what it felt like to experience a heat cycle. He knew--like all Cybertronians did--what it meant to be in the mood to interface but... but to have his own body just decide for a full stellar week that he had to? What was that desperation like? And then to lock oneself up and hold it all in. 

He took a slow breath, trying to calm his body down and stepped into Cyclonus' room. 

"What... what does the war have to do with me..." He paused and turned around slightly. He took a breath to steady himself and clicked the button to close Cyclonus' door. He waited for a clik to make sure Cyclonus wasn't going to yell at him before he turned around. 

"I just want to... help you. I-I know you don't tell me everything. I mean... What happened in the med-ward when you woke up, we didn't talk about it but-but if you really believed those things you said to me you wouldn't have helped me clean up, would you? A-and..." He paused and set the high grade down on a desk by the door. He cycled air for a moment and the lights along his mid-section flickered frantically for a second. 

"There's a piece of glass missing 'cause I wasn't able to put the vial back together and I... I just kind of assumed..." He glanced up at Cyclonus cautiously. "That you had it."

Cyclonus did not respond as he heard his door click closed. He simply stood, facing away from Tailgate toward the wall with the small iron glass window porthole and the corner of his recharge berth. 

He did not say anything for a long time and simply stared. He turned back around to face Tailgate abruptly, not fighting the anger, the hostility, the frustration he felt. If Tailgate wanted to be here, he would have to bare witness to the REAL Cyclonus. He looked absolutely menacing as he took a few steps to close the distance between them. He towered over Tailgate and, from somewhere, he lifted his hand into the small space between them. The tiny shard of glass was held gently between his pointed fingertips. 

"You want it back?" He hissed. He cycled air rapidly. He was trying to do something a little dangerous in his current state of mind. Fight his baser instincts so that he wouldn't interface with Tailgate or throttle him, but also retain enough danger to scare him away. He could feel himself heating up and tried to keep up the anger. Yes, if he could stay angry, he wold not move to doing other... things to fulfill his need. Primus, why did Tailgate have to choose NOW for this little stunt?!

Tailgate took a step back in spite of all his boasting and his genuine care for Cyclonus. He felt the wall behind himself and reached back to touch it, as if making sure he was awake and not recharging. He could not stop his engines from revving quietly in response to Cyclonus' open vents, cycling so close to him. 

As the 'con hissed Tailgate found a small reserve of confidence and lowered his mask. His mostly white faceplate was bright and practically glowing with heated energon. 

"N-no. I..." He couldn't help a twitch at one corner of his mouth like a smile. "You did keep it." He mused quietly. He honestly hadn't been sure. 

Cyclonus' continuing anger made him shudder and his optics flickered. He opened his mouth and could only force out a breath of hot air. His body shook slightly and then, completely without his meaning to, his core hummed. It vibrated deep in his midsection and Primus slag it if he didn't feel something stronger than a regular urge to bond. He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. 

"C-cylonus..." He managed and then stopped. He hadn't anything else to say.

Cyclonus felt his core thrum without his permission. He backed up a pace. The look on his faceplate echoed his extreme shock. He could not STAND his body responding to stimuli completely out of his control. He spun around, his sinister facade all but destroyed in one fell swoop. 

"Yes, I kept it." He grated out, voice catching in his throat. He took a cooling breath and hoped it was not too noticeable. He turned back around once he felt he'd collected himself enough. 

"I don't think you are fully aware of what I am coming from Tailgate." He said, his voice surprisingly level and reasonable. It was like he had given in, and was now deciding on terms, though he hadn't said as much. 

"I spent cycles....cycles in a bond with an individual I ended up terminating. For the betterment of all Cybertronians." He frowned hard. He wasn't sure why he was saying all this. THIS was why he closed himself off during heat cycles, among other reasons. 

"I do not know if I can interface again normally." He finally said, a last ditch effort at deterring his determined pursuer.

Tailgate let out a long hiss of breath as Cyclonus turned away. He pulled himself from the wall and took a few steps forward. He watched the retreating 'con with a growing sense of ease. 

His rather forcibly innocent looking faceplate--he couldn't help that he was built that way--looked sad. Backfire was not a strong enough word for what Cyclonus' admittance had done. Tailgate moved forward and did not hesitate at all to touch Cyclonus' arm in a soft gesture. 

"I knew you looked at him weird, back on that rock. I didn't..." He paused. 

Cyclonus was so heated under his hand. Tailgate's body seemed to think this meant he was cold and his core thrummed again loudly as it worked to raise his temperatures which did nothing to stop the nagging sensation in his lower panel. 

"I don't care." He added with a nod to confirm this to himself. "It's... I mean... Whirl doesn't have a faceplate, I don't have honest optics, Rewind and Chromedome are sometimes interfacing incompatible." His smile was so large and so innocent that he clearly did not have a grasp on what a possibly catastrophic idea it was to mention Whirl to Cyclonus in this state.

Cyclonus spun around to Tailgate quicker than lightening and was leaning down to be closer to him in an instant. 

"Whirl? Did you just compare me to that slag-hearted processor-dead piece of useless scrap metal?" He was not yelling. On the contrary his voice was low and dangerous. His vents hissed with anger now and his face and body radiated his emotions like a beacon. He held his position for a long moment. 

"And my... relationship with...with..." It was almost hard to say the name now, now that it was all said and done. He wasn't sure how he felt about the madman and saying his name was almost like he was bringing something back that was buried. 

"Galvatron is absolutely none of your business you meddler." He spat, but his heightened emotional state was causing his moods to fluctuate rapidly and the heat cycle was only making it worse. His anger did not seem to disperse but he backed off, clearly not planning on actually hurting Tailgate for what he said. 

"If this is how you wish to become closer to me NAIL, you are going about it the wrong way..." He said after taking a few steps back and looking away toward the window.

Tailgate jerked backwards with each of Cyclonus' calmly aggravated words. He brought his hands up defensively at 'meddler'. He looked away after that, staring at the bottle he'd brought with him as if looking for comfort or back-up or ... something. He turned sideways and then towards the door slowly. 

He was about to make his exit--defeated for now--when Cyclonus spoke up again. For a few seconds the biting use of the term NAIL caught Tailgate in the spark. He hated that everything boiled down to faction. Then, however, his processor wrapped around hope. His optics flickered slightly and he turned around. 

His body was cycling itself quickly, confused and running high on all settings. Was he supposed to be prepping to interface? Was he preparing to fight? His internal temperatures were climbing higher by the second and his tiny engines were starting to purr. He tried to calm them and only succeeded in venting a long hiss of air and quite noisily at that. 

"If that's the wrong way," he ventured quietly, straining his vocal components to hide his chaotic emotions, "what's the right way?"

Cyclonus had fully turned away and was caught completely off-guard by the question that was practically whispered at him from the other side of the room. He thought about immediately responding and part of him really wanted to, but his logical mind won out and he found himself thinking on the question. What WAS the right way? That was a stupid question. This whole idiotic venture was insane. How could he even consider doing this? How could he consider interfacing again...like...this... But what was wrong with it? Was he self-punishing? 

Hmph, he was spending too much time with Rung. 

Slowly he turned around, spinal strut stiffened as if held up by a steel rod. 

"I... do not know." He admitted just as he came to realize it himself.

Tailgate took a breath. It was now or never, really. He was getting used to Cyclonus' angry and spiteful responses and though none of them ever felt good they were starting to hurt less. He was sort of starting to understand what might be going on. 

He stepped forward, light face almost pink now with his rising temperature. His voice displayed his level of physical confusion and discomfort. 

"I know you don't think we have a bond but... I mean, you know I do. It's gotten to be that... that I'm starting to hurt when I'm not with you." He looked away and powered down his optics. He felt like a fool. He couldn't believe he was doing this! Rewind had warned him! You didn't win over a Decepticon with pretty words and confessions of feelings! He just couldn't stop it now that he'd started. 

"Even when I'm in the b-bar with everyone else I... think I might rather be with you, where ever you are." He powered up his optics to scan the room as if looking for something. "Maybe if you'd just give... give it a chance you'd not be so hard on yourself and maybe you'd--you'd be able to not think so much on what happened back there with Galvatron."

Cyclonus seemed to listen to Tailgate's speech, but his expression was unreadable. After the smaller mech was finished, the former Decepticon commander remained silent for a long time. 

He cut an intimidating figure and his head--thanks to his remaining horn--was very near the ceiling of the small room. He took a very small space to call his own on the Lost Light. It was not out of benevolence, but the fact that he simply did not need much space. In that way, Cyclonus was almost as practical as the infamous Decepticon communications officer. 

"The fact that we do not have a bond is not why I have refused you, Tailgate." He said at length. He neither admitted to having a bond, or denied it, but simply stated that it was not the reason he spurned the NAIL's advances. 

"I would be a poor partner for you. Or anyone." He stated simply. "There is simply no room left for this in my function cycle. That time for me is over." He tried to be firm, but he ended up only sounding sad. "War or not, I will always be Decepticon and you, despite your non-involvement, are clearly cut from the same metal as the Autobots. I am a ruthless, practical machine of war. Is that really what you want?"

Tailgate frowned. 

"I thought intermingling was encouraged?" He searched for a way to say what he felt without babbling off at the mouthpiece again. "I mean, if that's really what you are--a ruthless, practical machine of war--then yes. It is what I want." He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced down. 

His body went rigid as he saw in the floor the reflection of the lights along his body, specifically his midsection. They were going wild! Flickering on and off and pulsing. Primus, how embarrassing. He dropped his arms stiffly to his sides to try and hide the light. His voice was strained as he continued, double-paced. 

"Whatever I feel is for you and if you think that's all true about you then that's what my feelings are responding to. I've never met anybody like you and... and ok maybe if I hadn't been stranded on a rock for a few million years I would have met more people like you but... I-I doubt it." He tapped at his thighs with his hands nervously, unable to lift his arms and occupy himself for fear of giving off another light show. "Plus I kind of don't believe any of that scrap about all Decepticons being evil."

Cyclonus sighed out a breath and shook his helm. 

"Just because the war is over doesn't mean things will immediately change. Decepticons were that for a reason. Just because the fighting has stopped does not mean everyone will just start getting along." He said, though by the time he was done, he'd forgotten exactly why he'd made that particular speech. 

Oh, yes, he was a Decepticon and always would be. Something was clearly beginning to distract the huge commander and not even he seemed to know what it was. 

"You don't believe it? My criminal file must take up terrabytes of data space, did you not read it before deciding to become infatuated?" He said, sounding cold but all the venom had been drained from his words with this new, distracting sensation. 

He brought a hand up to the side of his helm. He was even hot to his own touch. He needed to do something about this, now. 

"Look Tailgate...is this...this what you really want? Interfacing with me in this state? Interfacing with me at all?" He asked, having to speak up above the sound of his hissing vents and a noisy core which would simply not listen to reason.

Tailgate's own body was rather noisy but he could not hide the reaction his core gave to Cyclonus' words. A noise bubbled up which, in pitch, was easily heard over the sound of his body preparing itself for whatever was about to happen. 

He relaxed slightly and his expression was slightly embarrassed as he moved his arms just enough to show off his lights once more. He nodded a few times before realizing he really should engage his vocal components. 

"Y-yes." He said quickly. His core thrummed once or twice loudly in echo of his statement and he let out a breath of air through his mouth as his vents were already working full force. He clasped his hands at his chestplate and tapped his thumbs against his collar joint. 

"I'm not sure exactly what a heat cycle feels like but... but I'm starting to get a good idea. Y-you're steaming."

Cyclonus might have laughed had the circumstances were any different at the obviousness of Tailgate's observation. 

"You should feel it from this end." He grumbled. He hated his heat cycles. They were nothing but trouble and pain and had been a thorn in his side since he went through puberty and began them. 

"It is...normal." He reassured, though he wasn't sure what possessed him to do that. 

He glanced down at Tailgate's lights clearly indicating that he was more than ready to do this. Perhaps that was what had been distracting him earlier, light reflections on the floor, on himself. 

His own lights were effectively dimmed through superior self-control but Galvatron's used to be very... His optics flashed briefly as he tried to banish those thoughts from his mind. 

He met Tailgate's own visor-like optic plate. Somehow, it helped. And it didn't. His core and his purring engine seemed loud and getting louder in his audios. This had to end. 

"You want it, fine." Perhaps he could kill two turbofoxes with one air to land missile. This would scare Tailgate away if nothing else would and then he would hear the end of this obsession and perhaps find a little peace on this mad ship. 

Quite suddenly, he moved forward. He slipped large hands with dangerously pointed digits under the smaller Cybertronian's shoulder ball joints and spun him around. He sat him on Cyclonus' recharge berth. It was tall, adapted for him, and so Tailgate's peds didn't even come close to touching the floor. 

"I will give you one last chance to back out. But once I start, I will not be able to stop." He warned grimly.

Tailgate was only partially listening to Cyclonus. His optics had begun to wander over the body of the Decepticon Commander before him. He'd always been attracted to tall, flier types but... Cyclonus just seemed the perfect example of what a flier should be. He was tall and lithe and shaped like a pillar, not too heavy in any particular area. His wings were displayed but unique to him, somehow, they weren't like beacons jutting out from his shoulder plates. They were folded tight and close to him. Tailgate had heard things about fliers and their wings. The alloy along Cyclonus' stomach was so inviting. 

Tailgate happened to look up just in time to catch Cyclonus' gaze. The small bot took a step backwards as Cyclonus approached him out of habit. He sucked in a quick gasp as he was hoisted into the air. His hands immediately clamped down on as much of Cyclonus' forearms as he could manage. He pulled his bottom lip between his dental plates as his body registered the heat coming off the 'con, pure heat. It was intoxicating. 

Tailgate's engine stuttered as he was placed on Cyclonus' recharge berth. He nodded eagerly in response to Cyclonus' question. He was not able to help himself afterwards and he reached out with a curious hand. He splayed thin white fingers along Cyclonus' mid-section testingly. His optics flickered for a moment as he pressed harder with his fingertips into the alloy.

It seemed to Cyclonus that everything Tailgate did was going to be a surprise. It was no exception when Tailgate reached out and touched his lower torso. Just...touched him. Cyclonus was running hot and was prepared to just wreck Tailgate and show him what a bad idea this was, but instead he found himself looking down at Tailgate's hand just touching him. 

He slowly brought a hand up and wrapped his fingers around Tailgate's wrist. It was slow, almost tender. He seemed then to find his resolve and he quickly pulled Tailgate's hand away from his superheated armor. He did not release the hand, however, but held onto it and clamped it to the surface of the berth. With his other hand he ran several fingers down the length of the front of Tailgate's lower panel. Another oddly tender gesture, but this one was at the same time unsure and practiced. 

Tailgate was practically overheating on purpose as he touched Cyclonus; he couldn't focus enough to breathe. He was completely focused on his hand drawing slowly over the taunt alloy of the torso before him. He could feel his lower panel pulsing as he moved his hand up slowly to continue the exploration. 

He thought nothing of the hand around his wrist but he did whimper when his own hand was caught and pulled away. He looked up at Cyclonus with his mouth hanging open. He did not get enough time to try and free this digit however as Cyclonus made a bold move. 

Another noise escaped Tailgate above the purr of his small engines. His hips rocked against the fingers on his closed lower panel and his optics flickered out momentarily. His free hand was instantly on top of Cyclonus' exploring fingers.

Cyclonus considered momentarily manually popping Tailgate's panel just for shock value but something inside rebelled against the idea so he refrained. Instead he manually opened his own panel with a thought and his spike--long pressurized inside--extended slowly but with purpose. 

The former Decepticon commander stepped very close to the berth. His spike was almost at level with the edge. It was lit up, but dimly so, with a light purple color highlighted in white. It curved ever so slightly and was a little bit large even for his body size. 

He reached forward again and played with the edge of Tailgate's closed panel sliding sharp fingers along the tender edges. They were just sharp enough to scrape a little underneath. 

"This would be easier if we were both ready..." He panted.

Tailgate's optics flickered and his core made a decidedly pathetic whirring moan as he watched the deliberate way Cyclonus moved. In spite preparing himself--physically and mentally--he could not keep his mouth closed as the ex-Decepticon's lower panel was retracted. He watched the spike pressurize with a growing hitch in his spark chamber. He muttered something incoherent in reply, spinal strut arching as Cyclonus' fingers continued moving along his lower panel. 

He glanced up at Cyclonus as the flier spoke and for a moment it did not seem as if his words registered. Slowly, neck cables taunt, Tailgate nodded. He did not, however, reach to touch his own lower panel. 

He reluctantly pulled his hands away from Cyclonus and pressed them along the back of his neck, under his hood. His optics fell to Cyclonus' spike as he worked to remove the latches holding his own outer armor in place. He worked as diligently as his lust-hungry fingers would let him. After a few moments of tinkering the large back plate over his shoulders and helm fell behind him and clattered to the berth. He moved his hands to the front of his chest and did the same with the over-large plate just under his collar joint. 

Flickering his optics--like rapid blinking--he looked up at Cyclonus, expression wanton but blank. What... what had Cyclonus asked him?

Cyclonus watched Tailgate with bated breath. Something about the way the small bot moved, the way he was unintentionally holding him in suspense was getting him revved faster than anything had in a good number of years. It was possibly that he was finally letting himself indulge during a heat cycle, and not Tailgate himself that was getting him all worked up. Or, at least, that is what he tried to tell himself. He was only partially successful. 

He seemed to be having a hard time regulating his breathing as he simply watched, bent at the waist and leaning heavily on his own berth. His faceplate echoed confusion after a moment. He was unused to tenderness and taking the time to slowly go through the motions of foreplay. He was unused to anything but the hard, fast, brutal Decepticon way. It got the job done. It was practical. 

He found it hard to wrap his head around doing things any differently, even interfacing. So, when Tailgate neglected his panel completely and began removing his outer armor, Cyclonus was more than a little confused. It had been so long that he had been so thus-ly exposed, it was as foreign to him and watching a fleshing creature take it's clothing off. 

"What....are you....doing?" He huffed, his voice deep and impatient. He did not, however, move to stop Tailgate. Something in him wanted to see his tiny partner vulnerable, but he was not yet sure why.

Tailgate sucked in a deep breath, vents hissing all over his body amidst the stuttering of his core like an engine that could not seem to roll over and start. Suddenly overcome with the need to touch his hands found themselves splayed over Cyclonus' abdomen again. He kept them clear of any contact--even accidental--with Cyclonus' spike and simply massaged them into the softer alloy over his partner's stomach. He seemed content to knead like an earth house cat for a moment. 

"I... I was... preparing. It's easier um... more maneuverable without... all that. Don't you usually... adopt protoform to interface?" His voice rose in volume as he tried to tell himself there was no need to whisper, yet he found himself scared to break the moment if he spoke too loud. His vocal pitch ranged from barely audiable to a tad below yelling. 

He glanced up at Cyclonus and slowly--very slowly--the corners of his exposed mouth turned up into a slight smirk. He trailed his hands upwards and to the sides. He began searching for the seams of Cyclonus' own outer armor. His fingers--tiny compared to the flier--pressed their way carefully into breaks in the plating, pressing and exploring tenderly for latches or hooks or whatever Cyclonus might have in place to keep himself armored and protected.

Cyclonus was shocked speechless. He wasn't sure about what Tailgate had just said that was so strange, but the whole idea of what he was doing just struck the large flier as odd. For a long moment he wasn't sure what to say if anything. So he just stood, a slack-jawed mess of heat and urges, as the smaller mech began to touch him. Just touch him on the abdomen. He wasn't sure if it felt good....really good, or simply infuriating! But still, he let it happen. 

He watched almost like a confused child not understanding enough to really speak up but not wanting to break the moment with questions. Something snapped him out of it and he slowly reached up to wrap both large hands around Tailgate's smaller wrists to stop him. 

"I do not..." He began and then realized that this would be strange to say aloud. He had never had to explain this to anyone before, it had never come up. 

"My armor is not...removable." He said, voice an odd combination of sad, frustrated, and preoccupied. "Mostly....it is permanent. I cannot access my protoform." 

Tailgate's optics flickered as his wrists were grabbed. He glanced up to Cyclonus with fear on his faceplate for a fraction of a second. Had he ruined this? Had he lost his one chance?! He seemed to relax considerably as Cyclonus spoke. The deep, rumbling timbre of the larger Cybertronian made Tailgate's core coo. All of Tailgate's efforts to prove he was a capable adult and not some fresh-out-of-the-academy-protokin seemed constantly thwarted by his own body. No other grown Cybertronian's core made noises like /that/! 

As Cyclonus' words sank in he frowned. 

"Permanent?" He echoed. He trailed his vision down Cyclonus' broad chest--his own spark chamber hitching painfully as he stared a second too long--towards where he was sure he had found the seam. He struggled momentarily, lightly, to free his hands to explore once more but soon stilled. He looked up at Cyclonus. 

"Why?" His purely curious and far-too-innocent sounding question was overshadowed as he shifted and a patella brushed accidentally against the large spike before him. His body lit up brightly as if he'd jacked into an electrical outlet at the warm and slightly moist contact.

Cyclonus paused. He didn't know if he was ready to tell that story or if he even remembered it. He had been so long in this state that he almost didn't remember otherwise. He released Tailgate's wrists, the fight momentarily gone from him. 

"It is...complicated. A story for...another time." He said partially because he didn't want to have to relate to the smaller, more innocent processor why his armor was welded to his frame, and partially because he wanted to just get on with interfacing already. He turned his head toward the window for a moment, then back. 

"There is...one piece that is removable." He said, optics dimming for a moment. 

"Though it hasn't been in a long time." He wasn't sure why he was elaborating. He was a mech of action not words but Tailgate made his vocal components work. 

He took Tailgate's wrists in his own again--gentler this time--and guided the tiny hands to the side of his chestplate and then just under it. There was a latch there. His barrel chest piece was one of the only pieces that could come off of his solid frame after all Galvatron would occasionally wish access to his spark. Guiding Tailgate's small fingers under the seams Cyclonus directed them to the clasps and then removed his own hands to let them fall to his sides. His spike pulsed with color and light along with his spark behind his armor. His vent hissed air almost menacingly like a warning but without conviction.

Tailgate sat, hands useless as Cyclonus talked. He was trying so hard to focus on Cyclonus' words that he was totally unaware that the tremor he felt through his frame at his partner's words clicked open his lower panel for him. He was too caught up in the feeling of Cyclonus guiding his hands that he didn't notice his own spike pressurizing, he didn't notice the rather embarrassing puddle of lubrication forming underneath him as his valve apperature fluttered eagerly. 

He didn't want to cycle air for fear he would break the moment between them. He never imagined Cyclonus touching him so gently... leading him like this! Exposing himself to Tailgate. The half-frame stared, awe-struck, into Cyclonus' faceplate as his fingers were placed near the inner clasps. 

His optics flickered and he looked down. With Cyclonus bent over Tailgate's optics were at level with where he assumed Cyclonus' spark would be. He stared at the light violet armor in front of him, as if he were able to see through it to his fingers working beneath it. He carefully flicked the clasps open--still holding in air--and leaned forward to help balance the plate as it was released. He could only imagine what might have happened if he dropped it.

As Tailgate unclasped his chestplate, Cyclonus moved to assist. He knew the plate would be heavy. He fully believed Tailgate was capable of lifting the piece but in their current positions it would be awkward. He took each edge in a hand and with Tailgate's assistance moved it away from his chest. He waited for the half-frame to take his hands from the armor and turned to put it aside, on the floor next to the berth. 

His chest beneath his armor was still broad after a fashion but it was lithe. His spark was not exposed but one could see clearly the spot under which it rested. His inner armor was sleek and minimal, pliable like his abdomen. Quickly he reached down just under his waist and hit a few more clasps. The armor plating that hung down next to his legs disengaged and fell noisily to the floor. He moved forward again. That was apparently the extent of the armor that could be removed from the large-framed flier. 

He noticed now that Tailgate was more than ready to move forward. Cyclonus was too eager to get on with interfacing to be embarrassed by the copious amounts of transfluid that had been dripping from his spike and down one leg. He took one step forward and put his own rather large spike directly next to Tailgate's. Just a few inches and they would be touching. He inched forward and pressed his own superheated piece next to the half-frame's much smaller one. 

For a moment he just stood. Contact....contact was good. But he was so used to abrupt he needed more. The idea of scaring Tailgate had all but gone from his processor and only the act of interfacing remained. He found that he could not think about much else. 

Tentatively he brought one large hand to their spikes and wrapped his thumb around his own. The majority of his fingers wrapped around Tailgate's spike with his index finger between them. Slowly he began to move it up and down. Just that small amount of friction made his core whine and his optics flicker and almost give out on him.

Tailgate again seemed too awestruck by what he was seeing to actively participate. Cyclonus' chestplate was gone... he was vulnerable and exposed before Tailgate. Willingly! Almost... almost romantically. Tailgate practically vibrated from the effort of trying to wrap his processor around the very idea. He had thought about this for so long and now... now... 

"Oooooh." His body gave a visible lurch as Cyclonus shifted and brought their spikes almost together. He had very little time to acclimate to the closeness before Cyclonus was touching him. 

His hands had remained hovering near Cyclonus' chest as the plate was removed and now they jerked forward, resting splayed around mid-torso. Tailgate's helm was tilted down, watching Cyclonus' large hand move, taking note of the measurements of the large spike so close to him. 

His arms shook as he leaned against Cyclonus and seemed to be exerting so much force to not collapse against him. He whined after a moment and bent at the arms, leaning forward until his forehelm made contact with Cyclonus' stomach. He looked as if he were praying with his head between his splayed hands. He did, however, completely block Cyclonus' view of their lower panels in this position.

Cyclonus continued to attempt foreplay--or foreplay to the best of his knowledge--even as Tailgate leaned forward onto his exposed chest and stomach. He stiffened. He hadn't fully thought about the repercussions, or how he would feel after he'd removed his outer armor, and Tailgate touched him in what he felt was a very intimate place. Too late now there was no turning back. 

He concentrated on the feeling building in his lower panel; the urgency; the desperation. He pumped his huge fist over their combined spikes in a slow, steady, deliberate way. It was just meant to get one going really it was not the act itself. Cyclonus reasoned this to himself as he had very little experience in this area. Foreplay--or what passed for Decepticon foreplay--was seldom used in his past relationships. 

He could feel the sense of longing building instead of lessening. He couldn't not keep this up for much longer. 

He took in a cooling breath and grabbed Tailgate by the--now very slim--shoulders and pushed him backward away from his exposed stomach. This moved his hands away from their spikes and left a twist in his lower cables. 

Cyclonus guided Tailgate perhaps a bit roughly sideways and then down onto the berth. His hands were not violent but firm and insistent. He then climbed up onto the berth after him and somehow he managed to make this look graceful. It was his single-mindedness that left no room for awkward hesitation. Not anymore. Tailgate wanted it and now Cyclonus--shamed as he was to admit it--could not do without it. Kneeling on the berth he towered over the half-frame.

Tailgate felt foolish as he remained pressed to Cyclonus' torso, panting through his mouth though his vents were all open full-flush. He knew somewhere in the back of his processor that he should be touching too. He needed to touch and feel and become familiar with Cyclonus' body. Primus at the very least he had to /act/ like he was participating! But he couldn't get his processor around it. Cyclonus' hand was on his spike and it felt so good. He was squeezing just a little and it almost hurt but it wasn't a pain like Tailgate knew it was... different. It burned and it ached and he only wanted /more/. 

The low moan escaping his vocal components was interrupted as he felt Cyclonus' hands moving. He looked up at Cyclonus sluggishly, feeling as if he were in a daze. As he let Cyclonus guide him his spark suddenly tried to escape it's casing. As Cyclonus moved onto the berth with him Tailgate felt his whole frame pulsing with each rotation of his spark. Whatever air cycling he was managing to do before was cut by a fraction until he was almost gasping, gulping at the air, vents hitching and pulling powerfully to try and keep his temperature down. His body knew what was coming but it was starting to finally feed off of Cyclonus' cycle like a starving protokin. 

Tailgate didn't just /want/ Cyclonus anymore, now... now he /needed/ him. His pale faceplate lit up like a beacon as he stared, hands hovering uselessly.

Clyclonus had not asked for a very large recharge berth. He got a standard bed for a double frame which worked fine. It was only now that he wondered why he had not asked for something just a little bit larger. Of course he could never have know he would need it for this. 

He leaned in and brought his head very close to Tailgate's neck wires, helms inches from each other. He was very careful of the horn and stub of a horn and that they did not knock into anything like the wall or Tailgate. 

He could feel their energy fields pushing and pulling on each other like simultaneously opposed and attracting magnetic poles. It was intoxicating. Tailgate's energy was insistent but gentle, calm even though physically he seemed anything but. 

He leaned his massive body over Tailgate and moved forward lining up their lower parts. It put Cyclonus' head above Tailgate's on the berth if he straightened himself up but he remained bent curled almost so their chests could be closer together. He brought a hand down and rubbed a palm up the length of Tailgate's spike. He then slipped two slender fingers into the smaller mech's valve slowly but firmly. This was something he was familiar with. The technique had to be used on him at one point. It was true that Cyclonus was large but so had been Galvatron and the madman was quite perturbed when they could not interface right away. He had built Cyclonus up very quickly to the task. 

Tailgate was trying desperately not to let himself vibrate and shake right off the berth as Cyclonus was suddenly looming above him. Tailgate's hands were pulled to his chest--palms out and fingers curled--pathetically as he still was not sure what to touch, where to grab, though he wanted desperately to make contact. 

He tried not to think about what was coming because each time he did he felt a particularly strong pulse through his interfacing array. If he kept it up he would be gone just /thinking/ about things. How many nights had he thought about this? Primus. 

His optics off-lined and his mouth fell open quietly--unless you counted the hissing of air through his desperate cooling systems--as Cyclonus touched his spike again. As he felt potentially dangerous digits slip /inside/ him he found his vocal components. He let out a hiccuped moan and remembered his arms and hands. They snapped forward as if they'd just been re-attached and Tailgate instantly made contact. His hands clamped around Cyclonus' neck and shoulders, grabbing, pulling, touching whatever he could find. He wasn't quite attempting to pull Cyclonus down, closer, but he was certainly trying to do something. His peds kicked at the berth uselessly and he whimpered again.

Cyclonus was careful not to work too fast or jar Tailgate too much, but his body was in a bit of a hurry. He moved his fingers in and out and then added a third. He did not move the much once they were inside, the sharpness of the ends having the real potential to cause harm. He kept them still and pulled them straight in and straight out, hoping that would be enough. 

As Tailgate pulled him closer he found that he couldn't keep that up in the position they were in. His spark pulsed brightly and with no chest armor to keep it in check it was quite visible. It was a purple color, subdued, but vibrant in it's passion. 

He pulled his hand away finding that with their chest so close he couldn't reach Tailgate's valve. He lined himself up after another moment of prepping and slowly slipped the tip of his spike into the slick valve opening. The warmth...the way the valve apperature closed around him. He moaned and tucked his head in as best he could. He slid slowly farther and farther in. He exerted every ounce of self control he had not to thrust his full length into the tiny Tailgate and pound metal to metal until his baser instincts were satisfied. 

Everything on Tailgate clenched except his vents which opened to strain for air. His fingers dug into the tense cables on Cyclonus' neck, his elbow joints locking to inadvertently keep his partner in an awkward bowed position. The smaller mech was much too caught up in the moment to consider what his smaller frame would mean for Cyclonus' positioning abilities. 

His hips bucked backwards cautiously as the calipers along his valve opening were breached. A warning tried to signal at the over-large intrusion but Tailgate was prepared. His optics flickered off-line and a long, low whimper of a moan escaped him as Cyclonus pushed in. 

He forcibly powered up his optics in time to catch the retreating glow of a violet spark. His core spun madly and elicited a loud rumble and everything seemed to relax. Tailgate felt his fingers pry away from Cyclonus' neck and the smaller mech's back rested onto the berth again. His hips bucked forward just slightly, internal calipers fluxing wide as valve walls shuddered against the intrusion invitingly. 

Tailgate pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and tried to relax further. He made the mistake however of glancing down between them to see just how little of Cyclonus' spike had actually penetrated. His vents sucked greedily at the air and his helm snapped towards Cyclonus. 

"M-more. I'm not that f-fragile." He said quietly, surprising even himself.

Cyclonus felt as if he'd never exerted as much self-control in his entire function cycle as he was doing at that very moment. He moved slowly but the sensation of the clenching calipers on the tip of his spike--the very sensitive tip--was almost enough to send him right over the edge in the state he was in currently. He had more control over his body than that, however, from years and years of practice with a less than forgiving partner. Had he overloaded too soon--before his master--the punishment would be more than severe. He had trained himself to control even under physical and mental stress. 

Tailgate's body shuddered and shook beneath Cyclonus and that, too, did not help his trying to hold out. He found that even more than his own pride there was an underlying deeper reason he wanted to draw this out. He would not admit it to himself just yet but he wanted this to be good for his tiny partner. He had given up trying to scare him away. His spark was just not in it to hurt the NAIL and he certainly could not fake it so he had resigned himself to enjoy the session and, hopefully, make it enjoyable for Tailgate as well. The former Decepticon commander felt that he owned Tailgate at least that much. 

He could not promise his partner--or himself--that he would be able to be completely gentle the whole time as the heat was starting to get to him. He held tight to the berth with one hand and grabbed Tailgate's hip with the other, partially to have something to hold on to and partially to stabilize his partner on the surface on which he lay. He drove forward further just slightly, slowly enveloping more of his spike inside Tailgate at his small partner's request. He did not wish to hurt the blue and white mech but he was starting to have a harder time controlling his speed so if Tailgate wanted more, he would give it to him. 

He clamped his mouth shut in a tight line but could not bite back a low moan at the feeling of calipers adjusting and trying to compensate for his girth. It seemed an incredibly tight fit and the constriction felt...better than anything had in hundreds of years.

Tailgate's spinal strut bent, arcing him off the berth, as a hand on his hip tightened. The force behind the grip and the control he could feel rippling through Cyclonus' energy field made his stomach chamber churn pleasantly and had his vocal components worked up into incomprehensible noises. His small engine--which was actually rather loud for it's size--was a fury of noise and vibrations, shuddering every inch of the small mech. 

As Cyclonus heeded Tailgate's request the younger mech's mouth fell open into a gasp. Tailgate reached down and gripped Cyclonus' wrist against his hip as tightly as he could which would not have measured up to much against such a well-armored partner. Having pressed through his body's initial shock of the sheer size of the spike, Tailgate's frame was now fully accepting of the intrusion. Long nights of self-servicing and wistful discussions with friends at Swerve's had built up a response to Cyclonus in the young mech and now it had a chance to see fruition. 

His valve began rapidly lubricating beyond what was normal, eager for friction and more of what was being offered. Calipers quivered and spread as far as they could while pliable walls pulled greedily. Cables throughout Tailgate's body loosened and left him feeling dizzy and overwhelmed. His optics flickered a darker blue as his sensornet lit up with stimulation, nodes struck and pressed without warning. 

Tailgate was still well aware of the rippling energy field pressing into him desperate for release and too conscious to indulge. He wanted to offer more encouraging words--as if his body were not doing that for him--but he couldn't work his vocal components into action. He settled for nodding vigorously against hiccup-like breaths, bracing himself on the berth with his free hand while his left clutched desperately to Cyclonus' wrist.

Feeling the grinding, rumbling of Tailgate's engine turning over elicited a similar response in his own internal thrusters. They kicked on and threw in a substantial amount of base to the volume of their coupling. His engines didn't seem overly loud but quietly powerful. They had to be to move a large frame like his through the sky. His spark pulsed dully but with increased frequency. It seemed like he could control almost all of himself but his spark would not be tamed in this particular instance. 

He pushed in just slightly more. The sound he made would have been downright embarrassing in any other situation but he was far past caring about that. He was able to stop himself from inserting fully and pulled back out again, slowly, purposefully. When he started back in it was faster this time and a little less measured, less careful. He was beginning to lose himself in the heat and there was very little he could do about it. It had been years since he had indulged himself during his heat cycle instead of meditating as he usually did. For so long he had been at the whim of another, far more fickle in his taste. 

He tightened his hand on Tailgate's hip as he felt the small mech's own hand on his wrist. He felt metal scratch beneath his clawed fingers and quickly moved his hand to the berth's surface along with the other one. He began pumping in and out a little faster movements becoming slightly more erratic causing him to go deeper and then shallower and vice versa unpredictably. He felt his core whine his desperation. His speed picked up slightly. 

The tiny calipers lining the valve of the much smaller mech felt so unspeakably amazing that the rest of the world slowly began to drift away and he lost himself in the feeling of being fully enclosed in them.

Tailgate's vocal components devolved into static. His expression turned to shock and he stared up at Cyclonus in surprise. It was as if he was unaware Cyclonus could do such things to him, as if he hadn't known Cyclonus was capable of interfacing at all. 

His whole body began to burn from the inside out in a strange non-heat sort of hot. Lower tension cables curled and unfurled writhing against one another as his peds sought purchase from the berth. He was stuck in a long cycle of wordless gasps and low moans, much quieter than he'd expected to be though his engine seemed determined to make up for the lack of vocal noise. His audios were just perked and charged enough to hear a noise of pure emotion escape the usually stoic Cyclonus. His valve responded by clenching a klik, seeming to hold Cyclonus' spike hostage before releasing it with a new wave of lubrication. 

Tailgate had been embarrassed by the messes he'd made while self servicing but he hardly had the presence of processor to think on it now. As Cyclonus began moving Tailgate gasped and reached up with desperately groping hands. His fingers scraped along Cyclonus' underbelly, looking for anything to hold on to. His vents clicked and cycled and tried again with little success as Tailgate's temperature rose. He took in a gasp like cool air had been denied him too long. 

"C-cylo-ooonus!" He gasped, patellas bending to offer a deeper thrust. His vocal components, now having been forcibly used, joined the din and Tailgate was soon moaning, sobbing and panting.

Cyclonus was glad he had moved his hand from Tailgate's person as the smaller mech's body decided now would be a good time to grab onto his spike and not let go. He gripped the berth hard with both hands and drove furrows into the metal there clenching his fingers into tight fists. 

The moan that escaped him was deep and unbridled. His thrusters seemed to kick in to a higher gear which did not help his super-heated state and his vents seemed to also get louder in their efforts to keep up with his rising temperature. His moaning seemed to be coming more regularly now and sounded a little bit like his singing voice, passionate and deep. 

In a strange move that as far as he knew was completely unmotivated and unexplainable in the heat of the act, Cyclonus grabbed both of Tailgate's hands in his much larger ones and quickly pinned them to the berth above Tailgate's head, effectively holding the smaller mech in place. The NAIL might as well have been bound to the berth, Cyclonus' strong hands were unyielding and his fingers dug into the metal making the bars of tiny cages that Tailgate's fingers just poked through. 

The large frame flier began pumping in earnest now and if words had been elusive before--not that the air general had any notion to speak--they were impossible now. His processor was a jumble of thoughts, very few of which made sense and even fewer could he hold on to for more than a few seconds. The sensation was everything and he felt his heat rising to an almost uncomfortable peak. It mattered very little as his body was riding the high of interfacing in a true sense of the word for the first time in hundreds of years. He could hardly feel the heat anymore and what he did feel was pleasant, like standing in the sun and letting his frame heat from the outside. He could almost feel it on his wings which were tucked tightly against his body. 

"Mmmmm, ah!" He let out a shout as Tailgate's calipers squeezed particularly hard and he felt the pressure building within him almost forcibly pushed back into his body. This caused a bit of a faster thrust. He had very little care at this point for the safety of Tailgate's valve.

Tailgate felt vulnerable and exposed with his patellas bent so far, his legs spread so unabashedly wide, but somehow even amidst the loosening control of the large mech above him, he felt that was all ok. Thighs canted far apart as his spinal strut arched and refused to straighten he found his hips sliding back and forth across the berth with each thrust. 

His optics shorted out and off-lined momentarily until he forcibly powered them back on. He tilted his helm up and tried desperately to seek Cyclonus' face. Blazing red optics were alight with passion and the firm, stoic jaw was parted, set in an expression of lust. Tailgate tried to lurch upwards--to do what he was not sure, perhaps get his mouth somewhere along Cyclonus' beautifully extended neck--but he had little leverage with which to achieve this goal. 

He let out a long, low wail as his hands were captured, moved and pinned above his helm. He wriggled and writhed to pull free but the motion only ground him against the still-thrusting spike. 

"AHhh--ooooh! Hhnnngg..." His helm tilted back until he was bent almost in half, spinal strut stretched to the breaking point. He wanted to touch so badly, his finger pads burned with want to explore and rub and fondle but the best they could do was tease and tickle at Cyclonus' strong hands. 

"Cy-Clonus!" Tailgate shrieked, vocal components hissing into static in the middle at a particularly powerful thrust. The mech jostled forward--up on the berth--as he felt the spike connect with the overly sensitive nodes at the very end of his valve and attempt to go further when there was nowhere else to go. He tossed his helm from side to side, now stuck in a mantra of his partner's name. 

Something about the response he was getting from his small partner only egged Cyclonus on. Tailgate squirmed and writhed beneath him and that seemed to fuel the fire inside more than anything so far. His thrusting reached speed and he began to pant through mouth and vents, trying to suck in air through all possible openings to cool his insides. His heat was only building now pushing for a release. 

Along with the heat soon came a pressure. It was a pressure that he could not ignore, and could not put off for much longer. He was god at listening to his body and his body was saying he had held out long enough. Now was the time for the culmination of this event. He felt his whole body tense and he tried to give his much smaller partner some kind of warning. 

"Tail-gate...I.....Mmm...." He could not manage to get the words out and he resigned himself to the fact that his partner would either take the hint or be pretty damned surprised in about five seconds. With that he gave a last few powerful thrusts and pulled back a little. He tried not to literally flood Tailgate's insides. 

Cyclonus' whole frame, every piston, every clutch of cording seemed to pull taut like a stretched wire or spring pulled to it's capacity. Cyclonus' spike gave a pulse and everything in the room seemed to stop. The large flier's optics whited out, fizzing and shorting so that the world disappeared and he was lost in a blinding light as he overloaded pulled so that just the tip of his spike was inside the lip of Tailgate's valve. He felt his patella's weaken and he grabbed the berth in a place with more leverage for support, letting Tailgate's hands go. His head dipped so that his chin was against his exposed chest and his mouth hung partially open but was silent even cycling air paused in the moment of release.

Tailgate felt a strange pressure--almost pain--as Cyclonus began to find his peak. He felt as if he would vibrate right off the berth if he was not held so firmly in place by spike and hands. He felt a warm, numbing charge spread through his lower body and he knew what was coming. It was so much more intense, however, than he had expected. He'd had experience in the berth--recently thanks to some helpful friends on the Lost Light--but this was so much more intense. This was not just physical but mental and, Primus help him, his spark ached for the connection and climax as well. 

The burn in his interfacing array made him purr and twist and cant his hips seeking as much friction as he could against Cyclonus' spike. The static charge along his valve walls was electrifying but nothing could have prepared him for the way Cyclonus said his name. His optics whited out instantly and he moaned. His spark chamber clenched around the sensation as if trying to survive off the sound and the sound alone. 

He grunted softly upon realizing why Cyclonus had pulled out so far and the pressure from his partner's release was all it took. His spinal strut threatened in earnest to snap in half and the second his hands were released they found contact with Cyclonus' chestplates. Tiny fingers dug into small seams as Tailgate lifted his whole upper body off the berth as his own overload plowed through him in a tangle of white hot static over every sensor node in his body. He was blissfully unaware of the colorful mess they'd made of Cyclonus' berth as he hung on to his partner's chestplates desperately riding out his ecstasy. He was also completely unaware that he'd screamed through the majority of the climax. 

His grip loosened and his back hit the berth hard as his vents suddenly gasped in a breath and his optics hissed and denied him on-lining for another second, desperate as he might have been to see Cyclonus' face in the afterglow.

Cyclonus fought the urge to simply collapse. As he began to overload Tailgate's body tensed around his spike and made the sensation all that much more intense. In fact the closely tiered releases drew out the feeling of overload for Cyclonus at least a little bit longer than it should have gone. 

After the sensation began to ebb the flier's body wanted to fall. He wanted to just collapse in a heap on the ground but something like shock kept him rooted to the spot. A wave of conflicting emotions ran through his slowly clearing processor. What had he done? Had he really given in to his passion and made a huge mistake? What kind of repercussions would this have for both of them? Would Tailgate ever give him five minutes of peace now? Is this what he'd been missing all those years? Is this....what a normal relationship was like? No! This wasn't a relationship....no...this wasn't. Then, what was it? 

Cyclonus's processor chose that moment to shut down and put all of his thoughts on the back burner as his body recovered from overloading. As if in a daze he managed to move himself. He grabbed a cloth from a nearby dresser and haphazardly wiped off the berth, himself, and Tailgate's torso and legs almost as if they were all part of the same piece of furniture. He then slid Tailgate over to the side of the berth nearest the wall gently, or more accurately with a lack of energy. He crawled up onto the other side and collapsed onto his back without saying a word. His processor was fried and he couldn't think. 

No...no thinking...recharge... His body tried to pull him into a state of rest which he tried to fight, if only a little.

Tailgate's optics flickered back on after repeated attempts to boot them manually. He made a small noise of disappointment as they clicked on in time to watch Cyclonus' face slide out of his optic range. 

He took a moment to relax against the berth and breathe in a deep, long cooling breath. His engine slowed and stopped and his body began it's rythmic cooling clicks. His spark was still twirling like a small solar storm in his chest cavity but he knew there was nothing to be done for that but wait. It would calm down in a few minutes. He was a little upset with himself for being so worked up in that sense. He had never even entertained the inkling that Cyclonus would bond with him and his spark's over-eager want for such a connection was embarrassing. He hoped Cyclonus would think the blinding pulsing of his spark through his bare chestplates was just coming down from the high and nothing else. 

He squeaked a little as he was dutifully cleaned and pushed himself up to his elbows. He rolled as Cyclonus urged him towards the wall but remained up. He felt a strange pulse and twinge in his interfacing array as his spike depressurized and everything sealed itself back up. 

His hips burned slightly and he realized with a split second of fright across his features that he couldn't move anything below the waist. His lower cables were knotted and twisted from the exertion. He cleared his exhaust and quickly laid down to hide his face, even though Cyclonus was too busy not thinking to notice. He couldn't let the flier know! If Cyclonus found out Tailgate would never get another chance. 

After a klik to calm himself Tailgate turned to look at his partner. He studied the stoic face, the fully flushed vents, the steam rising from purple armor. His core cooed again and he narrowed his optic scope at the betrayal. He wanted to move closer... He pushed up onto his elbows again and cautiously shifted to tuck himself under Cyclonus' arm.

Cyclonus was too spent, his body too exhausted to fight, or even protest as Tailgate attempted to curl up next to him even burrowing just slightly under his arm. He went along with it and curled his arm around the curve of the smaller mech's body almost protectively. His body too was going through a rather rusty cooling cycle, clicking loudly from the hollows of his body echoing around the metal frame. 

He wanted to simply let himself slip into blissful recharge but something stopped him and he turned slightly on the berth, angled torso unintentionally making more of a hole for Tailgate to curl into. His forced his optics online. 

"You are not injured, are you?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper and full of concern that he was just too tired to try an mask. 

Tailgate's helm tipped up quickly as Cyclonus inquired about his health. His spark pounded hard against it's chamber and Tailgate hesitated. He didn't want to lie but... well, ok, he did want too. He tried so hard to get Cyclonus to look at him like he was an adult--which he very much was!--and not the helpless NAIL he had been when they'd first met. It had been a hard uphill struggle and after tonight Tailgate thought he'd been relatively successful. He knew Cyclonus had held back a great deal and if he let the flier know he was injured after so gentle an interfacing session... he'd ruin everything! 

"Um, no. No I... I'm the opposite of injured." He murmured, his voice a deceptive purr. He tried to pour his haze and disbelief that he was really in said situation into the statement and he felt like he had succeeded. 

He lifted a hand off the berth and then cautiously placed it high on Cyclonus' chest plate as he tucked his still un-masked face into the larger mech's side. He off-lined his optics and permitted himself a loud sigh. Primus... he was even going to recharge with Cyclonus! He would just comm. Rewind in the morning and have his friend help him down to the med-bay to see Ratchet. He curled his legs up and made an impossible ball against the hardened Decepticon. 

~Good night.~ He comm.ed quietly.


End file.
